Young at Heart

I woke at 4am after having my failing at uni dream, yet again. My only recurring dream. No flying, or sex dreams for me. I have never had a sex dream, ever. I got up and had a piss. I love the stillness of the early morning, the quiet, the solitude. And I am lucky enough to fall back to sleep immediately. Both Sam and I can do that. (I’ve never understood people who have trouble sleeping)

I woke again at 5am and tossed and turned and contemplated getting up. The 5am dark is sublime. Just that crack of light, a hint, a tatse.

I woke again at 7.20am and it was light by then and I got up. I tip-toed around because Sam was still asleep. I sat down on the bed gently and lent over to pick up my track pants, I must have squeezed my tummy and I did the biggest fart as my torso was parallel to the floor.

“BARRAM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Lovely,” said Sam’s voice feebly from the other side of the bed.

It just came out, like it was beyond my control. Involuntary, is what I would have called it. Quite unexpected. I just leant over to collect my clothes from the bedroom floor and...

Straight across the bed to Sam.

“Just lovely,” is what comes out of Sam’s mouth next. I hear the doona being pulled over his head. A lot of rustling of cotton and what not.

I laughed, of course, farts are funny. Don’t exactly know why, but they are. Maybe, there is a childish part to all of us, way beyond adulthood. I hope so, anyway. Well, not just farts, of course, but somewhere deep inside a small part of us has to remain young at heart, marvelling at wonder.

Sometimes I Just Go Shopping. Yes, Me.

I bought second hand CDs from the op-shop for $1 each and I spent the afternoon loading them into iTunes.

John Farnham, Marvin Gaye, Pauline Henry, Norah Jones, Billy Joel, Incognito, James Brown, Fugees, Vince Jones, Al Green.

What else are days off for? (Writing? What? Writing what? Oh fuck, I can’t be arsed writing. There are so many things I could be doing, if I weren’t writing.)

Wasting my life? No, I wouldn’t say that.

After that, I had a nap on the couch. Lovely.

That’s why I work 3 days a week, baby. Get out of jail. Have more time off. Enjoy yourself more. Buy more shit. And second hand shit doesn’t add to the capitalist dream. It is outside the free market economy, Liberal Party, revolving Prime Minister, GDP wet dream, so that has to be a good thing, right? (Do you like that?) I like shopping more if it is a political act.

I know I should be writing, what is your point?

Work Problems

There are problems at work, Melissa told me. Mistakes have been made. (boss) Tony’s apparently not pleased. Melissa said he has been giving her shit for two weeks and it hasn’t been pleasant.

Giving her shit, I thought?

Contain the contagion, was my next thought. But no, apparently not. She was dumping it on me.

So, there are problems?

But, is it me, or is it Melissa. It was hard to know who?

She has a lousy memory, she really forgets everything. I knew about one mistake, as Tony spoke to me about it when Melissa was away. And I only did it, what turns out to be, the wrong way after I confirmed it with Melissa that it was the way to do it. I tried hard not to say that to Tony… but I think I tactfully slipped it in. (I’m standing up for myself now a days, sorry if that doesn’t work for you.)

She forgot to send the English office figures from Wednesday to the next Monday. She said I could do them in future. (Because she forgot to do them?)

The other mistake, I am sure was HR’s fault, some chick who is sick and having a lot of time off. Melissa had mentioned it in passing, and when I asked her directly, she implied it was my fault, by saying she’d asked me to sort out the figures for the sick woman’s extended leave. And I did, but, as far as I knew, that finished last September.

Melissa didn’t say it very forcefully, like it was still an excuse, for something she forgot to do, yet again. I have emails with HR saying it finished in September. So, did Melissa get further instructions that I don’t know about?


I decided not to worry about it. Oh, fuck it, who cares. I get stuff right… and I can’t help but suspect Melissa is blaming me for stuff she’s done. But that always seems to be my work story. Is that always the work story? Actually, yes, I have always found that to be the work story. If someone can lie and cheat and blame the shit for which they are responsible, on you, they will. In my opinion, that is the human condition.
Oh, who cares, whatever. I should be doing more artistic pursuits, anyway. That novel isn’t going to write itself…

Drug Rehab

David called from the Uber on his way to the airport heading to Thailand for drug rehab. (He’s sworn me to secrecy, but telling you guys doesn’t count)

Prescription drugs. I think it was valium in the beginning. Then it was anti-anxiety drugs. He works really hard, teaching all over the world, is at everyone’s call, so many people rely on him to get through life. He is the guru. He supports a multitude of people. I call them sycophants. David laughs at that.

Then he comes home and crashes.

I've questioned his doctors, for some time. (Questioning David about his doctors) They have given him whatever drugs he wants. Essentially, David has been taking the Heath Ledger mix for years.

What prompted the change? He took his usual drug combo and fell asleep in the bath and nearly did a Whitney. That scared him. And it must be exhausting, it is exhausting, the black moods and the crying when he is home alone. He said it was. He said he can’t do it anymore.

“My uncle, my mother, it will all come out, I guess,” he says with a flourish. Over protected, the only Greek son. (molested by his uncle as a kid)

“That’s a bit dramatic, isn’t it?” I say.

“It has to be something,” he says. “I hope it does come out. Get it cleared. Gone. I want it to be…”

“It may be none of those things.”

“There has to be something.”

“Whatever it is…”

“Whatever it is,” says David.

He sounded nervous, as you would be nervous, essentially, off into the unknown. He wanted to talk. He is going to spend 28 days in rehab.

“How did you find this place?” I ask. “I hope it isn’t doctor’s without degrees.”

“I’ve done my research, don’t you worry about that,” David says. “Do you think I am stupid?”

“No darling,” I say. “Far from stupid.”

“You’d never guess who runs the place?”

Shane’s boyfriend Tully, who David has fallen out with in recent years, his mate.

“You are kidding me,” I say.

“How many degrees separation?” asks David.

“Do you think he’ll say anything to Tully?”

“I’ve spoken to him about it,” said David. “He assured me that would be against doctor patient confidentiality.”

“Is he a doctor?”

“Ha ha,” says David. “You know what I mean.”

We laugh at the prospect. He says I am the only one who makes him laugh and snaps him out of it, if only for the time we speak. He says everyone else doesn’t know what to say. I just say it.

“What kind of fucken guru are you, anyway?”

“Shhhh,” he says. “Don’t give it away.”

"So, will you be back in 28 days?"

"No, I'm going straight to Nepal, afterwards."

"So many sycophants, so little time," I say.

"I'll see you at the end of January."

Wet

I was up at 6am.

7.20am, ready to leave, and the rain comes down, as I was about to walk out the door. Grrr. Isn’t it always the way.  (What law do we call that?) 

I like my walks in the morning, and I need the exercise, but not so much in the rain.

I tried waiting at the Brunswick Street tram stop, as the worst of the rain fell. Under the glass shelter, with a old woman with a shopping jeep. There was a big white and orange sign cable tied to the post, apparently, the trams had been replaced by busses, due to tram rail works, there was a map of the works, but I stopped reading before I got to that. How do you expect a short bus to replace a long tram, I ask you? (I asked myself) The buses aren’t articulated, I was pretty sure about that.

I’m not paying $4 to go two stops on a stinky internal combustion engine sardine can, fuck that, I think. The rain eases, a bit, and I pop my umbrella open and walk. It is humid and wet.

I catch a tram at St Vincent’s Plaza. I’m saturated with rain, or sweat, or both? Whatever? All I know is liquid is dripping down my face. People push onto the old, single-car tram. The air is damp, so are the people. The smell of wet person is in the air. 7.30am and the tram is packed? What gives? Walking is so much nicer, I think.

I’m wet. I can feel water dripping down my face. I’ve got a seat, at least, and I sit perfectly still. The rain water drips off my hair and down the back of the collar of my shirt. It gives me a twitch.

I was in the lift at 7.47am.

I’m first one in the office, it is usually either me or Jason Wang. I just get up early, and I live close, it is no real achievement, I can assure you.

My hair was saturated. I was wet, as I sat at my desk. I exhale. Brrrrrr.

I switch my computer on.

Jason arrives.

After discovering all the unreleased Rolling Stones songs, recently, and there are many of them, I also discovered that most of them are on YouTube. So, I put in my earpods and listen. I make a YouTube playlist. I don’t need to buy the music when I can make a YouTube playlist.

Rolling Stones Come on Sugar (1976)

Rolling Stones Still a Fool – this song is by The Rolling Stones and appears on the compilation album Genuine Black Box 1961-1974 (2010).

Rolling Stones Stuck Out All Alone (1968)

Rolling Stones Highway Child (1968) Beggars Banquet Outtake

Rolling Stones Dirty Work Acoustic Sessions

Rolling Stones Under the Radar (2005)

Rolling Stones You Can't Cut The Mustard

Rolling Stones Fast Walking Slow Talking (1973) Goats Head Soup Outtake

Rolling Stones Keep It Cool - 1983 Undercover outtake - Love this

Rolling Stones The Way She Held Me Tight (1978)

Rolling Stones Do You Think I really Care (1978)

Rolling Stones Everlasting is my love (1978) Keith

I’m working on my own, Melissa has the day off, so nobody takes any notice of what I am doing. The music plays in my ears. I wonder about my phone ringing, but any messages that are left on my phone come up in my emails, anyway. Besides, I have everyone pretty well trained by now to email me.

The work day slowly begins.

Everyone else slowly arrives. I can’t hear their hellos over the Rolling Stones, but I can pretty much guess the timing of their hello and I respond accordingly. -->
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Another Decapitated Rat

Another decapitated rat disembowelled at the bottom of the stairs at 7am. Lovely. Good morning world. That is Milo's spot to leave his prey. Every morning that I come down to find his latest victim I am thankful that we sleep with our bedroom door closed. Otherwise, I reckon... oh... middle of the night standing on my chest, carcass hanging out of his mouth... 'oiw'

I'm just nervous that one morning I won't notice and I'll get intestines squished between my toes before I have even had time to fully open my eyes.

I'm not really complaining, mind you, Milo is just doing his job. He's really fast. He probably kills two rats per week, fortunately he doesn't bring them all inside. Big cities have rats. When we are between cats, shall we say, it gets to the stage when we can hear the rats running around in the ceiling at night, that's when I know it is time to get a new cat. When we have a cat, we never hear rats scratching about, we just find their dead bodies.

Still, 7am is far too early to be contemplating that another small creature has lost its life.

Weird Weather

Fuck me, what happened to the summer? Well, spring? We've been plunged back into winter. This is weird, even for Melbourne, and I love Melbourne weather, I'm not one to knock it. I love the seasons of Melbourne. I love the hot and the cold, the sun and the rain. But this weather is odd. We are a week off summer and it is winter again, now that is just weird.

Our Hot IT Guy, Tim

Our hot IT guy, Tim, laughed at my ambivalence at getting remote access set up but, you know, it was nice spending time with him. He's also a lovely guy, really lovely. And I found out today that he smells nice. 

He looked at me with that you-are-not-like-other-boys look. A couple of times. When we were having trouble with the set up.

"Are you going to sign on over the weekend?"

"I am never going to sign on to it."

He laughed nervously.

"But seriously..."

"I'm never going to use it," I say. "I had one sick day and this is the shit I have to put up with.

He laughed. It wouldn't work because HR had failed to maintain one of their systems, and my contact numbers wouldn't work with the dial in system... now there was a surprise, HR not maintaining systems, more so than the dial up failing.

 

I Left Because I Could

I went to work and I made it until lunch time. There were a few nervous eyes when I coughed. I am coughing like a dead man, you know, hacking up a lung. (I thought it would be funny to cough, cough, cough, and then threw a liver on the desk [well, from where am I going to get a lung?] It made me chuckle to imagine the look on all their faces. Good thing I am to gaddam lazy to do such things)

Yeah, so I made it to lunch time. I got everything that had to be done immediately, then I left. Boredom? You know me well. You know if there is a chance to head home, I will. So, I did. I don't usually take sick days, but when I do, it is like eating sugar, I just want more.

Of course, now my boss is getting me remote access. Of course. I will never use it, which is the reason I have never set it up thus far. I don't think about work once I have left the office, who are you kidding?

I'm Sick

I’m sick, like I have a temperature, sick. I have a hacking cough, that is how it started yesterday. I have been sick for two days and in bed today, desperately trying to feel better for work on Tuesday. Why do we try to get better for work on Tuesday? Quite frankly, they should be processing my day off as a sick day?

I’m in bed, wrapped up in my doona, like I have to keep warm like my life depends on it. I’m really hot, but the heat is somehow comforting. I’m toasting under this doona, so much so that the bedroom stinks of sweat.

Sam accuses me of being Pig-Pen.

“POOH… OO!”

(Is it the stench of immanent death, I wonder?)

“I don’t have the energy to fart…”

“It must be leaking.”

“It’s not.”

“You just don’t know.”

“I’d know.”

“You stink.”

“Your bedside manner leaves a little to be desired,” I croak.

(Even if he is cooking the third thing he suggested for dinner without a complaint)

“Stir-fried noodles with prawns?”

“No.”

“Zucchini pasta?”

“No… I don’t want anything.”

“Conjee?”

“Oh… yes… I could eat conjee.”

I get cold really easily, like when I go to the toilet, or whatever reason I get out of bed. I can feel the chill of my core really easily and I scamper back to bed.

I feel like shit, hot with no energy. The burning, somehow is comforting, compared to the cold.

Boo hoo!

 

Black Guys

I'm kind of glad there are more black people in Australia, it would make gay bars much more interesting. You know, spice up the choices.

I say this with the slightest trepidation, as I now realise when I was touring around America some years ago, I have to admit, that I did sexualise black men, you know, purely because of their, er, reputation, if you know what I mean.

Having said that, if I was twenty again, with this changed society, and going out and picking up boys and going to sex clubs, I surely would have been a keen participant. Ah, not now though, I’m not twentysomething anymore, which I really don’t care about at all, that time has passed, and I wouldn’t change the present for anything, but it is nice to wonder.

Move the Hell Over, Sharon

7.30am. I get out my spotty umbrella and walk to the Lansdowne Street tram stop. (I once had a black umbrella which Sam borrowed when his broke and then he broke mine. He replaced it with a poka dot umbrella and looked completely unconvinced when I complained about the replacement) I catch a tram on the corner of Victoria Parade because of the rain. I don’t want to be saturated by the time I get to work. It is one of those drizzling humid mornings.

Some little rat-faced bitch millennial was sitting with her bag next to her on the seat next to the wall. I thought she’d move the bag when I sat down, but she didn’t. She just went on sitting there with her foot on the opposite seat typing away furiously on her phone.

“Move the hell over, Sharon,” I want to say but, of course, I don’t say that. I wonder what she would have done, if I had. I chuckle to myself, as I plot her death for not moving over.

But she got off not long after, so what did I care really.

There were a couple of saturated office boys jogging in Collins Street in their shorts and singlets. Red and blue, stuck to their glistening, wet muscles. I saw them further back down Collins Street and they passed me just before I got to my building. One blonde, in the red singlet, and one with dark hair in the blue singlet. 

Cute Wog Boy Lawyer

12pm. Heading outside. A cute wog boy lawyer in a blue suit came out of another lift opposite when I exited mine. He was looking down at his phone, as he walked in front of me. He went ahead of me in the revolving door. He was shorter than me and still looking down at his phone, so I could see his sexy neck as though he was on his knees taking it up the arse. Woo!

Okay. It was lunch time and I was hungry. What can I say?

Mean Girls

I notice 3 cats-bum receptionist-types heading towards me, this morning as I walked towards work. Each young and attractive, each with a hand in the air, holding take away coffees, almost all with exactly the same expression on their faces, versions of determined, is what I’d have called it. One looked weight of the world on her shoulders/determined. One looked determined/perky, licking her lips. The other looked determined/distracted, as if she was planning her route. Each one had bags of the same style over their arm. Each had on a wedding ring.

They looked like mean girls. “Bar, bar, bar-bar, ba, ba.”

They were coming at me. If they’d linked arms and high kicked for girl power, I would have been surprised.

I tried to imagine their husbands? Oh yes, they'd have husbands. Tony, Jason, Jesse. Of course, truthfully, I'd imagine Tony, Jason and Jesse in their undies, but maybe that is just me. 

Those boys would be putting in the hours at night. “Get down there and don’t stop until I tell you,” say the three girl’s voices in unison.

Tony dressed up as panty pad man superhero, you know, like in the Libra ad. Small, white undies. Panty pads head wear, as shoulder pads, knee pads, and ankle boots. 

Jason wearing a cat’s skin like a cape, attached by the cat’s head on top of his head, and probably nothing else. Hairy chest, hairy stomach, big sausage, naturally, hairy legs.

Jesse in blue and red like a superman outfit. Tights, leaving nothing to the imagination, you understand. Hung Jesse.

Each with a light sabre, in hand, each ready to defend their girls.

They swished by. “Bar, bar, bar-bar, ba, ba.”

I was secretly scared of them.

I know, the things you think as you walk to work, hey?

Still, it made me laugh, the whole thought process, and it put a whistle on my lips, as I walked the rest of the way to work.

Once It Was We Want To Forget

It is interesting

That the pomp and ceremony

Of Anzac Day celebrations

Has increased in exact relation

To the death of the, actual, diggers.

Sublime Spring

The day sparkled in its crisp sunlight. The cobwebs seemed to be the finest silk spun between the leaves. The afternoon was golden. A perfect spring day.

Cold Friday Morning

It's cold. Buddy is in my lap. My friend is asleep on the couch, she has a bright red blanket over her, it looks like strawberry jam in the dim light. I've got Keith Richards playing in my ears, Crosseyed Heart. It is grey outside again, like winter has wiped its last tentacles over us. Buddy is keeping me warm. He stretches his head straight up in the air, I kiss his bulldog face.

Friday off. I'm back to having Thursdays and Fridays off. Apparently, the Tue, Wed, Thu every second week was just for a trial. Apparently, we can now ended it, if we chose. 

Yes, please. 

Lovely, back to normal hours. Two days in a row to myself. Keeps me sane. Apparently, I'm very quiet in the office. My last law firm taught me to keep my head down, otherwise you run the risk of getting it kicked off. You know, what drunk thugs might do to cats at 3am, buried up to their necks.

Always Fridays off, good old Friday. You've got to love something that comes last, is at the end, 'they' have normally got it right by then.

Thursday In The Office

I was up at 5.30am. I was awake and couldn’t go back to sleep. I was worrying about what I have to do at work today. I have plenty of time to get it it done, but that doesn’t stop me worrying. I can sleep on a rock in a rain storm, but not if I am worrying about something.

I emptied the dishwasher and made coffee and muesli and stared out into the garden for a time. Day dreaming. It is very underrated. 

There were poppy's being given out at every corner, only one hot army officer on the cnr of Spring and Collins Street. Oh, really, that time of year again.

Didn’t we just do that? I giggle to myself. Oh, yes, it is my perverse side that made me giggle, it is true.

I was in the lift at 7.50am.

Jason Jones was in. [I’m telling you the resemblance to Sam is interesting. I can’t help but wonder if his cock would taste the same] 

Lady Ga Ga was in at 8.30am.

I got stuck into work.

My printer has been moved next to me, to give Lady Ga Ga a seat. So, cute-as-a-fucking-button Declan keeps coming around to use the relocated printer. So, I have to admit, I keep looking up to perve on his sweet arse. [I can almost feel his taint on the tip of my tongue when I look at him]

I think, I got caught perving on Declan’s arse. Their printer has been moved to my side of the office and he comes around often. 

I looked at his arse, and he looked at me smiling with “that” look, kind of self consciously. He laughed as if he knew what I just did. He looked at me and laughed with that you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me kind of laugh.

“I’m just waiting for something boring to finish uploading,” I panic responded.

“I’m just waiting for something boring to finish uploading,” he repeated. He might as well said, that’s bullshit.

All I could think was, Baby accountants with attitude, fella we’d prefer you in the nude…

Yeah, okay, I was clutching at straws, saying the first thing that came into my head. I might as well have just said, Yeah, sure, I was just perving at your sweet arse.

I didn’t look at Declan again all day.

But those tight, blue suit pants he wears. He has the most lickable arse, it’s true.

I am careful not to look at him any more when he is at the printer.

So, what kept me awake at 5am this morning, I had finished by 11am.

You know, I really have been mean about Goon during my time here. It is my cynicism coming up against his unwavering positivity, if the truth be known. The thing is, I keep messing up my journal entries and Goon has been kind enough to fix them for me. It’s true that if I had the edit capabilities that Goon has [not sure why I don’t? I think that 5 million dollar embezzlement 5 years ago has something to do with it, but don’t mention the crime] I could do it myself, but I don’t, and he is always more than happy to help.

I told him he was a champion when he fixed my latest fuck up. [Ah yeah, and I almost meant it]

Anyway, I said it. He’s help me with the stupid mistakes I’ve made.

I still claim it is mostly because of faulty information from Melissa, but, I should be on top of it, checking for her mistakes. I should. I could. I would. Nah, I do, as doing something right the first time is the easiest and best way, but some of Melissa’s fuck up get past my photo scanners, I have to admit.

I had tuna pasta for lunch. Goon told me I could be a chef my lunch always smelled so good. [it’s because I was nice to him, telling him he was a champion, he seems to have assumed a new kind of camaraderie. Grrr! Just because he is helpful, it doesn’t make him any less of an over positive noxious worm. Always with an inappropriate platitude offered, went it is always unwanted]

“Except, I am rarely the cook,” I said.

“You could manage the restaurant then,” said Goon.

I got everything done, and walked out, my last Thursday. Phew! That’s a stupid idea finished with.

Mick Jagger’s Primitive Cool and Wandering Spirit arrived, only ordered last Sunday.

LouLou was at home when I got home. She’d called me earlier and had gone to the bakery and got assorted pastries.

We smoked a joint.

We took Buddy to the dog park. Bugle was there. The black and white American Bulldog, Staffy cross. That weird hairy tiny little thing, that looks a little like a prehistoric amoeba. We saw Simon walking home with Andy as we were walking there.

We ate butter chicken and roti for dinner.

Went to bed about 11.30pm.

Back To Me, Melissa

10am. Melissa says we need to have a catch up this morning downstairs. Why do I always feel as though I’m going to the gallows after such discussions? Thanks (previous) Black law firm. 

(it is widely accepted that all the employees who escaped the Black Law Firm need therapy to get over their time there)

I still don’t have any confidence in myself.

Our meeting turns out to be more about Melissa than me, thankfully. Very happy about that.

She got Beck’s job but never got the title or the pay rise. So, she’s been hassling The Big Poo for it. He’s been resisting. Recently, it came to ahead, Melissa and The Big Poo had words and Melissa finally got what she wanted, but it hasn’t pleased The Big Poo. He lashed out with a few excuses, but couldn’t come up with examples when Melissa asked him. There was something about complaints, but again no examples when asked.

This is all according to Melissa.

Why am I working Thursdays again Big Poo. Oh yes, what? Melissa keeps fucking stuff up, was that it?

I’m pretty sure she blames her constant fuck ups on me.

Apparently, my chicken little CD has arrived at home with Patti and Joss Stone singing Stir it up. Sam messages me.  Something to look forward to.

It is rainy at the end of the day, and I haven’t bought a jacket with me and I am in short sleeves, lovely. Good thing it isn’t so cold, in fact, I kind of like it. So, I catch a tram down Collins Street. I’m still not getting off at Spring Street though, I’m getting off at Albert Street, two stops past the free tram zone end. Shrug. It gets me up the hill. I’ve got an umbrella ☂️😬.

I listen to Laura Nyro and Labelle.

It had stopped raining by the time I got to Albert Street, so I got off and walked home in my short-sleeved shirt.

LouLou was coming to stay at 5pm, as she had a 10am appointment to see a psychiatrist in Richmond tomorrow as a part of her Workcover claim, but it was changed to 11am, so she is driving down in the morning. She is coming to stay after the appointment.

We took Buddy to the dog park. We walked the longer circuit, Brunswick Street, Johnston Street. We had to wait near the corner of Brunswick and Johnston Streets while it rained again. Rain drops falling heavily from the sky, kind of beautiful, really. 

We went to Woolies, waiting outside the lift under cover out of the rain. Then we went to Coles to get pasta we forgot at Woollies.

We ate tuna pasta for dinner.